


Worthy

by RipUpTheEnding



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipUpTheEnding/pseuds/RipUpTheEnding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dean and Cas shower together and the one time they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for #E4K2016.
> 
> (Also, happy birthday, M :) )

+1

"Hurry up, Cas!" Dean yells as he shoves Cas through the door to the Men of Letters showers. He yanks his hand away from Cas's shoulder, letting out a rather unmanly whimper at the glob of goo now covering his fingers. "I hate warlocks. They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere!"

"Well, to be fair, Dean, this wasn't actually his fault…"

"Technicality," Dean says, shimmying out of his shirt and throwing it at the far side of the communal shower with a full body shudder. "He should have thought twice about practicing witchcraft if he didn't want to be blown to bits."

Cas hums thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But I think we can safely say that this particular warlock-killing spell is off the table for the future."

Dean snorts. "You think?"

"I think."

Dean steps under the shower spray and yelps when the cold water hits his now fully nude body. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…" he mumbles to himself, blindly reaching for the shampoo and squeezing half the bottle on his head, letting it run down over his body. At his right, Cas chuckles. Dean opens his eyes long enough to glare at him.

"What are you laughing at?" Dean snaps. "And why the hell are you still dressed?"

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean makes a mental note to get on Sam for teaching him that particular habit. A habit that is not adorable at all. _It's not._

"Just waiting for the water to warm up a little." Cas sticks his hand under the water and then adjusts the temperature slightly before stepping under the spray. Cas half sighs, half moans when the water hits him and Dean's mouth goes dry. He's not staring. And he's most definitely not thinking about what it would be like to suck those little pearls of water from Cas's lips. Except that he's totally staring and he's totally thinking that because it's not bad enough that Dean sometimes pervs on his ex-angel best friend, he has to do it at the most inappropriate times possible, like when said friend is covered in exploded warlock. And because this is Dean's life, he isn't surprised when this is the moment that Cas opens his eyes again, gaze fixed on Dean.

Cas doesn't say a word. Just raises his brow slightly and proceeds to strip, eyes never leaving Dean and growing heavier by the second. Cas slips his thumbs under the band of his boxers and is just about to push them off when Sam crashes into the room, arms loaded up with towels and washcloths.

"Here. I got you guys some stuff."

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and he's not sure if he wants to punch Sam for interrupting or give him a fucking medal. Either way, Sam's entrance pulls him back to the real world where, oh yeah, he's covered in fucking warlock goo.

Sam throws Dean a washcloth and he wastes no time going to work, back turned to Cas, scrubbing his skin until it's pink and raw.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep scrubbing like that, Dean."

"I'll be fine, Cas," Dean growls, making the mistake of turning back around to face Cas. Without permission, his eyes give Cas a once over and he gasps, but this time it has nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was apparently a god and not an angel as he claimed, because holy shit, his fucking body. _But no, Dean, no. Pull yourself the fuck together_ because Cas has barely cleaned himself off at all.

"Come on, Cas!"

"What?" he asks, his little smirk turning into a frown at the tone of Dean's voice.

"You're doing a half-assed job and you're still fucking filthy. This is how you get cursed, man!"

"Cursed?" Cas rolls his eyes again and _goddammit_ he is so going to punch Sam.

"Yeah, man. Cursed. You gotta clean off better than this."

Cas shakes his head and sighs, rolls his eyes yet again, and continues to languidly wash himself like he's relaxing at a fucking spa. "Dean, when have you ever heard of someone being cursed by a warlock’s remains? That's not really how it works…"

"And when have you ever heard of a warlock fucking exploding when you kill them?"

Cas just shrugs.

"Exactly! But it fucking happened. It happened to us! So, I am not taking a chance with this… Especially not with you."

"What?" Cas drops his arms to his sides and turns to face Dean head on. Dean's breath catches and so does Cas's because yep, Dean fucking said that out loud and it's too late to pretend it didn't happen.

"Dean," Cas whispers, slowly lifting his hand towards Dean's face. Dean closes his eyes and tries to swallow the lump in his throat that's threatening to come up as a sob, because Dean's big mouth just ruined everything and now all he can do is try to breathe and wait for the inevitable end. Wait for the rejection for Cas to leave him again like he always did back when he was still an angel. Dean gasps when Cas's palm cradles his cheek. It burns like a brand. "Dean, I…"

Sam clears his throat and Dean and Cas jump apart. "Try this," Sam says tossing a bottle in their direction. Dean catches it on reflex. "It's an exfoliating body wash. Might help with the scrubbing."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas says with a smile, reaching towards the bottle in Dean's hand.

"Yeah, I don't think so. Get over here man." And before Dean has time to freak out about what the hell he's just done, he's squeezing body wash onto Cas's back and lathering him up. "Maybe you don't care about the possibility of a warlock's curse but I sure as hell am not letting you take that chance. I mean, what if you end up with three eyes or, or, I don't know… start growing tentacles or something!"

Cas sighs, his shoulders sagging, and if Dean could see his face he knows that Cas is once again rolling his eyes. "I assure you, I am not going to grow tentacles."

"You don't know that."

" _Dean…_ "

"Just—just…" Dean swallows loudly and when he speaks again, he’s surprised by how raw his voice is. "You're not an angel anymore, man. You're not indestructible."

"Dean," Cas says again, voice just as raw, as he turns to face Dean. "I'm fine. I promise."

Dean shakes his head, eyes closed, and when he looks back at Cas, it's shower water and not tears on his face. He swears. "Just let me do this, okay?"

Cas searches Dean's eyes, his face, and after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, he nods and turns back around.

Dean lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling instantly lighter. Squeezing more body wash into his hands, Dean lathers it up and returns to cleaning Cas. The former angel relaxes under his touch, soft and warm. And if Dean spends a little longer helping Cas clean than necessary, no one needs to know but him.

 

+2

Dean sighs under the spray of the shower, running his hands from chin to forehead and pushing his hair off his face. The water is a little hotter than strictly necessary, just on the right side of scalding. Another time, this amount of heat might make him uncomfortable, sick even, but right now it's fucking heaven. They've caught several cases one after the other in the past week and it's been fucking brutal. He's tense and sore, and he massages his shoulders as the hot water helps to loosen his muscles.

A few years back, this level of non-stop activity would have Dean's adrenaline going a mile a minute and he'd be aching to get out to bar, pick up a willing partner, and blow off some much needed steam. Nowadays Dean's aching in other ways. He’s reluctantly resigned to the fact that he's not as young as he used to be and it fucking sucks. Ten years ago when he picked Sam up from Stanford, he could barely see past the end of the day, let alone years later. He lived big and loud. He took every chance he could for a new experience, because who was to say if he'd get the chance again? With the life they live, the only thing he knows for sure is that it doesn’t last forever.

There are days when Dean misses that sometimes, the thrill of being young and reckless. The fact that he made it out of his 20's and into his 30's was a shock and he wasn't prepared for the changes in his body. But the thing that's surprised him most is just how little he misses his old ways. Sure, it was fun at times, Dean can't deny that, but they've fallen into a comfortable, more laid back rhythm over the years; taking cases as they come, resting when they want, passing on cases to younger hunters when needed. And it works them, for him and Sam and now Cas.

And goddammit. That's all it takes. Just the thought of him, just the thought of his name and Dean is fucking gone. He glares at his cock where it hangs heavy and erect between his legs, aching.

"Traitor," he mumbles angrily, but it's not like it's really his cock's fault. He promised himself he wouldn't let this happen again, but failing is what Dean does best, so he knows he shouldn't be surprised. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breathes and tries to will down his painful erection. When that doesn't work he changes the temperature from scalding to ice water. Predictably this does not help either. Dean still has an erection and now he's shivering.

"Fuck," he hisses, trembling fingers turning the knob to adjust the temperature to a more comfortable level. He can't take care of himself, he shouldn't, not when it's Cas that's got him hard and aching. It would be wrong to use Cas in that way, it _has_ been wrong every time Dean's brought himself to completion with Cas on his mind and his name on his lips. And yet that hasn't stopped Dean before, hasn't kept him from getting off to thoughts of Cas no matter how bad he feels afterwards. Not matter how many times he promises himself that it's the last time. That it won't happen again. That it _can't_ happen again. But Dean is nothing if not a masochist and inevitably he ends up here again, hard and leaking pre-come, his body begging for release. Dean always ends up here.

Dean huffs out a sigh of resignation as he leans his back against the cool tile of the motel shower. He wraps his hand around his cock and pumps a few times, hisses at the rough drag of his calloused palm. It'd probably go easier with a little soap but he's not going to let himself enjoy this anymore than strictly necessary. He'll let himself get off but he doesn't get to feel good about it.

With his other hand he gives his balls a little tug, rolling them in his palm. He rocks his hips in a predictable rhythm, not changing anything but the speed as he grows closer to his end. Heat coils in his abdomen and his flicks his thumb over the spongy head, drags his nail along the slit. Dean's balls pull up tight against his body and he whimpers out his release, jerking himself a little tighter than necessary as his spills over his hand in long thick ropes. He shudders through one last aftershock, Cas's name on his tongue when the shower curtain pushes open and the man himself steps into the tub.

"Morning, Dean," he mumbles groggily, shoving Dean aside so that he can stand under the spray. "'S cold," he says frowning, eyes still closed when he reaches out to adjust the temperature.

" _What the fuck, Cas?_ "

"I am not familiar with that specific greeting. I thought it was customary to wish one 'good morning.'"

Dean stares at Cas, mouth gaping like a fucking fish, and it's only at this moment that Dean remembers he's still holding his limp cock in his hand and he's covered in his own spunk. From getting off to Cas. His best friend. The fucking Greek god sharing his shower and dripping with water. Dean wants nothing more than to suck it off of him, taste his sweat and his skin, lick him from head to toe, and then while he's down there he might as well suck the man off. It would just be polite.

Dean whimpers and when Cas opens one eye, Dean shoulders him out of the way and quickly washes away his come with shaking hands. He jumps when Cas touches his shoulder and moves him just enough that he can stand under the water too, apparently totally unaffected by the fact that he's practically plastered to Dean's naked body.

"What the fuck are you doing, Cas?"

"Showering," he grunts, squeezing a generous amount of body wash on his hands and lathering it up. "I thought that was rather obvious."

Dean wants to choke his neck but if he touches Cas he'll probably pop another boner and that will just make this already awkward situation even worse. "Yeah, Cas. I can see that. But why are you in my shower? What's wrong with the one in your room?"

"It's broken. Sam said I could use yours."

"Pretty sure he meant when I was finished, Cas! I was already showering!"

Cas raises a brow, running his soapy hands over his chest. Dean holds his breath. "And? I'm not stopping you, Dean. Fell free continue."

"But—but—" Dean groans, part in confusion and part in annoyance at the renewed arousal building in his body. "It's weird, man!"

"Is it?" Cas asks turning under the water until the two are chest to chest. Cas's hands trail over his body, washing away the suds, thumb catching on his nipple on the way down. Dean gulps, loudly, and it takes all of his strength not to grab Cas and rut against him like a fucking dog. "Why is it weird, Dean?"

"Just… just is," Dean whispers, his voice trembling.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say Cas's eyes flash with amusement. "But we've showered together before, Dean. Why is this different?"

"Just is," Dean says again. "Last time we were washing off warlock goo. This is… this is more… showers are usually private, man."

"If you think I'm bothered by the fact that you touched yourself before I got in here with you then you can stop worrying."

" _What?_ " Dean squeaks.

"I don't care, Dean. It's a normal function of the human body. I usually take care of myself in the shower too. Makes cleanup rather efficient."

Dean can't speak. He closes his eyes. His bottom lip trembles.

"That's actually part of the reason why I wanted to shower right now," Cas says. His breath tickles Dean's face and he shivers. "So, if you don't mind…"

Dean's never moved faster in his life. "Nope. All good! Shower's all yours man!"

He pretends he doesn't hear the sound of skin on slick skin as he rushes from the shower and out the bathroom door.

 

+3

"While there are aspects of this new human life I find fascinating, this is not one of them, Dean."

"Come on, man," Dean says wiping his brow with the back of his hand as he watches Cas fiddle with the new shower head in the Letters’ Shower Room. He finally splurged on one of those deluxe high pressure shower heads he's had his eye on for months and decided to take the opportunity to teach Cas a thing or two about working with tools. Guy's gotta know how to take care of himself.  "Home repair is just part of being human. Stuff breaks and you need to know how to fix it."

"That's what you're for…" Cas mumbles, frowning at the uncooperative wrench in his hands.

Dean snorts. "And what happens if I'm not around?"

"Why wouldn't you be around?"

"I don't know. Just say I'm not around and something breaks. What do you do then?"

"Ask Sam."

"What if Sam's not around?"

Cas turns his attention from the new shower head to Dean, eyes narrowed, and _holy shit._ Turns out Cas doesn't need his grace to be full of Angelic fury. "And why would you both be gone with me here alone?"

"I don't—"

"I don't need your coddling, Dean. I may not be an angel anymore but I've been a warrior since the beginning of time—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean holds his hands up in surrender. "That is _not_ —"

"I am more than capable of handling myself on a hunt. I have already proved that many times over."

Dean groans. "Casssss…"

" _What?_ " Cas snaps.

"I know."

"What?"

"I _know_ ," Dean says again and when Cas just continues to stare, he takes a page out of Sam's book and rolls his eyes. _"I know, Cas._ I _know_ you don't need to be protected and fucking… _coddled._ "

"Oh," Cas says, wide eyed, looking rather like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Do I worry about you sometimes?" Dean laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "'Course I do, man. But that's only 'cause I've watched you die enough for several lifetimes already. And hell, you may be a Winchester now but there's no saying you got the same deal me and Sam do with coming back from the dead…"

Cas swallows thickly. "I'm—I'm a Winchester?"

"Well, yeah, man. What did you think?"

"I—I—thank you, Dean," Cas whispers, ducking his head. He may still be able to summon that angelic fury when necessary, but he blushes just as beautifully as any human Dean has ever seen. His fingers ache to touch it, to run his thumb across Cas's cheek, feel the warmth of his skin where the blood rushes to the surface. His hand is halfway there before Cas lifts his eyes and Dean realizes what he's doing. They both gasp softly and Dean just stops, hand hanging mid-air between them. For the space of a breath they stare, eyes searching. It takes everything Dean has to pull back, to break the spell and move on as if nothing happened.

"You're welcome," Dean says, hiding his embarrassment behind a cough. "Uh… What were we talking about?"

Cas sighs softly, eyes closed, and when he opens them again, he's more composed. "I believe you were explaining to me why you and Sam would leave me here alone."

"Oh… Oh! Yeah… Uh… I don't know. It's hypothetical, Cas! Point is, it could happen. More likely than not it will, and when it does you need to know what to do."

"So, hypothetically, you're gone, Sam's gone, and the shower breaks. That's the scenario?"

"Yeah."

"Well then 'hypothetically,'" Cas says, making finger quotes, "I'd use this 'hypothetical' thing called the Internet and look up a 'hypothetical' plumber to fix our 'hypothetical' shower head."

"You're not bringing a plumber back to my Bunker!"

" _Your_ Bunker?"

"You know what I mean! Just—just—" Dean groans and takes a deep breath. "Just humor me, okay?"

"Okay."

"…What?"

"I said 'okay.' That _is_ what you wanted me to say, isn't Dean?"

"Man, being human sure has made you a cocky little shit, hasn't it?"

"Hmm." Cas shrugs. "Or perhaps you've only just now caught on to my particular brand of humor."

"Fuck you, man!"

Cas looks over his shoulder at Dean, eyebrow raised and if Dean didn't know better he'd say it's a challenge. But Dean does know better. He's known since the moment Cas pulled his mangled soul from the pit. He never stood a chance and entertaining the idea that he might, even for just a second, is a recipe for disaster. He needs to break himself of the habit.

"So, are you done yet?" Dean says quickly, changing the subject. The look fades from Cas's face, if it was ever even there at all. "I'm fucking exhausted and I wanna try this thing out before I go to bed."

Cas rolls his eyes as he gives the wrench one more turn. " _You're_ tired? I'm the one doing all the work!"

"Stop whining!"

Cas ignores his comment. "Yes, Dean. I do believe the new shower head is ready to be tested."

"Well, what are you waiting for, man? Turn the water back on and let's see how this thing handles!"

Cas turns the shut off valve and then the shower knob

The shower head flies off the wall.

Cas jumps out of the way and right into Dean

"Fuck!" Dean yells. Cas knocks them both off balance and Dean struggles to steady them, but the now broken neck of the shower is spraying cold water in all directions, soaking Dean, Cas, and the floor. They collapse in a pile of tangled limbs. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Cas rolls off of Dean and crawls to the shut off valve. "It broke!" Cas shouts.

"What?"

"It fucking broke!"

"Shit," Dean says, as he scrambles to his feet. Predictably he slips again and nearly face plants against the wall.  Groaning, he reaches above his head and turns the knob. The water finally stops and the two men collapse on the floor next to each other.

"I told you I shouldn't be doing this, Dean."

"What are you talking about, man? That was an awesome shower!"

They break into a fit of laughter.

Cas grabs his hand. Dean doesn't pull away.

 

+4

They're on I-90 West, 20 hours into the 22 hour drive from Albany back to Lebanon and for once, Dean is content, at peace even. Being behind the wheel of Baby is better than any drug or alcohol, and he can't stop his mind from wandering, reflecting over the last several months. Things have slowed down to a manageable calm since they defeated the Darkness. Throwing Lucifer back in his cage and slamming the doors of hell and heaven for good certainly didn't hurt things. There was the matter of Cas's sacrifice to deal with. Turns out being God's chosen one had some perks after all, like being the key to locking it all down forever, all those evil black-eyed sons of bitches and feathery dicks trapped on the other side of the doors, unable to fuck with the earth ever again. Only took all of Cas's grace to make the lock permanent. To fall for good,  a living, breathing human struggling in the dirt like the rest of 'em. But since when did anything to do with Heaven or Hell or God ever come cheap?

 _But at least he's alive,_ Dean thinks, throwing a fond glance at Cas's sleeping form in the rear view mirror. _Alive and with me… Us. With us. His family._

Dean clears his throat and grips the steering wheel tight, leather creaking under his white knuckles. So, much for content and peaceful. He can't think that way. Not before and certainly not now. Someone like Dean just doesn't measure up to a fucking Angel of the Lord, so an angel who gave it all up? Saved every human, Dean included, and became a human himself? No fucking way. Lucifer will go legit before that ever happens.

He reaches for the radio, fingers twitching to turn the dial and blast Zeppelin so loud his ears bleed, anything to stop thinking for just a minute, but in the end he changes his mind. He turns the volume dial the opposite direction, music down low in favor of a different sort of soundtrack; the purr of Baby's engine, the scratch of her tires on the rough, worn asphalt, and the soft snores of his two favorite people in the world.

 _Yeah. That's the stuff._ Dean exhales long and slow, fingers loosening their death grip on the wheel and the knots in his back untying just a bit. At his right, Sam snorts loudly, startling himself out of sleep. He doesn't open his eyes, and Dean laughs quietly under his breath as Sam's jaw goes slack and sleep pulls him back under, his snoring returning to a soft, measured pace.

Dean is still grinning when he looks back in the rear view mirror to check on Cas. The angel— _Man,_ Dean mentally corrects himself for not the first time. _The man and my best friend_ —is curled in on himself, head pillowed on that damn trench coat he still insists on taking everywhere, and looking more like a cat than a millennia old ex-angel.

Cas softly smacks his lips, pink tongue poking out to wet the chapped bottom one. Dean's not thinking about it when his eyes track the motion, but when he licks his own lips in reflex his chest tightens, breath caught in his throat on a sharp gasp. He tears his eyes away from Cas like he's about to do that Angel smiting thing that will render Dean blind if he keeps looking. Another thing he'll never do again now that he's human, but it's a moot point really. Cas has always looked that way to Dean, bright and blinding, like staring at the sun, his everything burned into Dean's vision even when he looks away.

It really is a bad idea to look at Cas while he's driving anyway, so, he's not going to look again. Not until they finally get back to the Bunker and Dean has no choice, but maybe not even then. Dean's a stubborn bastard when he wants to be. He'll find a way to avoid as long as he can before he has to blind himself again. He always finds a way.

Dean manages to make it all of three minutes before he folds. He hits a pothole—Goddammit—when he's fighting so hard to not look at Cas, and while Sam just snuffles and continues to snore, Cas whimpers in a very unpleasant way. Dean's eyes are back on him in a flash, face mimicking the deep frown he finds contorting his best friend's face. Cas's eyes are still closed but his brow is pinched, deep lines etched into his forehead. His body tenses and spasms. A hiss, followed by a pitiful whimper escapes from between his now clenched teeth, and Dean recognizes it immediately. A very human cry of pain.

 _Shit._ That vamp three days ago must have gotten him worse than Dean originally thought. Sure, he'd thrown Cas clear across the room and through a rotted out wooden door before the fucking badass got his bearings and chopped the damn thing's head off with one powerful swing of his machete. He was awkward as they cleaned up after themselves, wincing and rubbing his shoulder all the way back to the Impala after they finished. But he'd been through worse as both an Angel and a man, a fact that Dean had no problem reminding him of, with a few playful shoulder checks. Cas stopped complaining after the first hour and hadn't brought it up since, no so much as a  twinge of discomfort showing on his face.

Honestly, what with nursing his own wounds and trying to ignore the dull ache in his lower back that gets worse the longer he drives, Dean had all but forgotten about it. But looking at Cas now, shivering and shaking in pain in the back seat, it's obvious he's been hiding something serious, something he can't hide when he's sleeping and his guards are down.

Dean wants to kick himself in the balls. What kind of person blows off his friend’s pain like that? Cas is a big boy and if he says something's wrong then who is Dean to tell him otherwise? Someone who yet again has proved just how unworthy he is of Cas's affection, that’s who.

Dean's looking for a place to pull off onto the side of the road and check on Cas when he hits another bump in the road. Sam barely loses the rhythm of his snoring but Cas is another matter. He jerks awake violently, sucking in a desperate, pain filled breathe.

"Cas? You okay, man?" Dean whispers and immediately wants to kick himself again because of course he's not okay.

Cas swallows thickly several times and when he finally speaks, his voices shakes. "Yes, Dean. I'm—" He sucks in a breath and hides it with a yawn. "I'm fine, Dean."

Dean blows out a guilty breath. "No you're not, man."

"Maybe not, but I will be. You said it yourself, I've—" Another half hidden hiss. "—I've been through worse. We all have."

"I know what I said, but in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a fucking idiot."

That gets Cas's attention and he jolts to an upright position, "No, you are—" but that's as far as he gets before he's hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, breathing so loud and erratic Dean thinks it might actually be enough to wake Sam.

"Okay, that's it. We're stopping at the next motel."

Cas lifts his head to protest but this time no words come out at all, just a long low moan.

"Shit," Dean hisses under his breath as he speeds up, pushing Baby to the max. He has them checked in and is parking in front of their room within 20 minutes.

Sam grumbles angrily about being woken up and having to sleep in a motel bed when his own bed is barely an hour down the road, but one look at Cas trembling in the backseat and his eyes go wide with concern. Dean assures him that he's got it all handled and after a minor argument, Sam shuffles into the room and collapses on the first bed he comes to. He's snoring before his head hits the pillow.

Truth is, Dean has no idea if he's got it covered. Until he gets Cas inside where he can get a good look at him, he has no idea what he's dealing with. He just didn't want Sam to see Cas like this, to see yet another one of Dean's failures under the glow of discount fluorescent motel lights.

All attempts to get Cas out of the car and into the motel by his own strength fail, and when his knees give out, Dean just barely manages to catch him before he collapses face first on the parking lot. Dean maneuvers Cas around and hoists him up into a bridal carry.

Cas blinks at him blearily, lashes fluttering just enough for his glassy eyes to peek through. "Dean?" he asks apparently for no reason in particular because he clearly doesn't want an answer. Instead he lays his head on Dean's chest, snuggling in close and _holy shit._

He's burning the fuck up.

Dean kicks the motel room door closed, not caring if he wakes Sam in the process. Right now all that matters is cooling Cas down before his damn brain starts to boil and then figuring out why he has a fever in the first place. In the too bright bathroom he skips all formality. Cas's shirt is off and his pants are undone before Dean even has him settled down in the tub. He whimpers, eyes still closed when the cool porcelain touches his overheated skin, hand shooting out blindly in Dean's direction. Dean takes the offering with a heavy heart, winds their fingers together, while his other hand turns on the water. It shoots out of the shower head with surprisingly forceful pressure for such a shitty motel and Dean scrambles to adjust the temperature when Cas bolts upright in shock. The sudden movement drags another terrifying shout of pain out of Cas, and it's only then, when he folds back in on himself, rocking back and forth and whimpering in a desperate attempt to stave off the pain that Dean sees it.

"Goddammit..." And Dean hisses right along with Cas as he carefully touches the gash on his friend's back that runs from one shoulder blade to another. It's not deep, definitely doesn't require stitches. It's the kind of wound you throw whiskey on, lightly bandage, and walk off. At least it would have been three days ago when Cas received it. Now though, it's red and inflamed, oozing and crusted and bleeding in places. Dirt and bits of what Dean can only assume is rotten wood are buried deep inside the wound. There was clearly no attempt made at all to clean this.

And it's clearly all Dean's fault.

Cas has an infection and a fever because Dean blew him off. Add another tally to the "unworthy" column.

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean hisses again, and this time, Cas frowns.

"'S not my fault," Cas slurs.

"I know."

Cas frowns again, glassy eyes pointed at Dean but not really looking at him. "You said, 'Goddammit, Cas.'"

"I know what I said. It's not what I meant."

"Then w'di'ya mean?"

_Goddammit, Cas, for trusting me implicitly. For being so fucking smart and so fucking naive at the same time. Goddammit, Cas, for falling. For saving the whole fucking planet and the human race and graciously accepting a weak, mortal body for your troubles. But most of all, Goddammit, Cas, for just being you. For being so fucking perfect and selfless that I can't help but love you in a way I'll never be worthy of._

But instead Dean just says, "I meant shut up. Just shut up, Cas and let me figure out what to do."

"Well, alright. But you didn't have to be rude…"

And Dean can't hold in his snort because Cas— _that little fucker_ —is near delusional from his fever but he still manages to pull it together enough to roll his eyes. Dean's heart swells because even like this, shivering and shaking and flushed from fever, Cas is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life, inside and out. It's all he can do to keep from doing it right here and right now, saying those three little words that he never says to anyone. Those three little innocuous words that when put together have more power than anything in the universe.

An unexpected sob lodges in Dean's throat and he covers it with a few hacking coughs. Cas doesn't open his eyes but he raises a bow in Dean's direction.

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean says quickly, testing the water temperature; it's cool enough to bring down the fever but warm enough to be comfortable. Cas sighs. "I think I've got some antibiotics in my bag. Just… Just wait here, okay?"

Cas grunts a response as Dean leaves the bathroom to search for the medicine. He's only gone a few minutes but by the time he returns with a few pills and a glass of water, Cas is asleep, slumped over in the tub. Dean kneels down next to the tub and shakes Cas awake.

"Cas? Wake up, man. You gotta take these pills."

Cas frowns, brow pinching together, but he opens his mouth. Sighing, Dean puts the pills on his tongue and lifts the glass to Cas's lips, coaxes him to drink. Cas swallows the pills but immediately falls back asleep, sliding even further down the tub.

"Cas?" Dean says again as he wipes his friend's hair from his face, "You gotta wake up. You're gonna drown yourself falling asleep in the tub like this."

"Too tired," he grunts sleepily.

"Too bad."

"Nope." Cas yawns and smacks his lips again the way he did earlier in the car, which is supremely shitty timing since Dean is pretty sure he's going to have to get in the tub with the guy to keep him from drowning.

"Cas?" he says one more time, a desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable. Cas slides further down the tub and Dean hangs his head in defeat. After a few deep breathes, Dean strips down to his boxers. With narrowed eyes he points and his half hard cock. "You. _Behave._ "

The tub is barely big enough for one, let alone two full grown men, but Dean is nothing if not stubborn. If he has to, he'll bend the rules of physics to fit himself in that bathtub along with Cas. Thankfully it doesn't come to that. It's an uncomfortably tight fit but Dean barely notices, too consumed with the feel of Cas cradled against his chest. Dean chuckles to himself wearily, shakes his head. He's killed gods, he's battled the Devil, he defeated the fucking Darkness, but nothing has never gotten to him the way Cas does. Angel of the Lord turned mortal human man and Dean is fucking powerless against him. It would be embarrassing if Dean didn't love it so much.

Dean laughs again and Cas snuggles in closer, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. Shivering, Dean returns the hug, one hand on Cas's waist while the other rakes through his hair, fingers softly scratching his scalp. Cas melts into it and for one moment, one fleeting perfect moment, Dean allows himself to have this. To have Cas in his arms, soft and pliant, to comfort him with gentle touches and even more gentle words.

"Love you," he whispers into Cas's wet hair, wincing at the severity of his slip, and then gasping when Cas answers softly, "I know."

Cas will forget by tomorrow.

Dean promises to forget by then too.

 

-1

It's two weeks later when it all finally comes to a head. After five days tracking a pack of werewolves in the Montana forest, everyone is exhausted, physically and mentally. Tensions are at an all time high and all Dean wants to do is crash in the motel and sleep for a week. Fucking screw consciousness. Unfortunately for Dean, he took a nasty fall killing the last werewolf and tore up his leg. He's got a gash clear up his thigh that's still oozing blood an hour later when they make it to the motel.

Sam volunteers to pick up some food, while Cas guides Dean to the bathroom, his arms loaded up with first aid supplies from the kit in the car. Dean winces when he tries to take off his shirt. He pauses to catch his breath and then tries again, but this time his back spasms and he has to throw his arms around Cas's shoulders to steady himself.

"Shh, shh. It's okay," Cas soothes, his hands coming up to rest on Dean's hips, grounding him. "Let me take care you."

Dean nods, jaw twitching at the hinge, and lets his arms fall limply at his sides. Slowly, carefully, Cas slides his hands up Dean's body, over his chest where his nipples have pebbled under his sweat soaked shirt. Dean gasps on the inhale, eyes flitting up to find Cas watching him. That angelic fierceness is back in his eyes and the intensity of his gaze is so powerful Dean is scared. He should look away, he knows he should, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes on Cas.

When Cas pushes Dean's flannel off his shoulders, Dean follows the motion, hands gliding down Dean's arms and back to his waist. He immediately grabs the hem of Dean's undershirt shirt and pulls it over his head. Dean shivers. He's not sure if it's the chill in the room of Cas's stare.

"Okay?" Cas murmurs, and when Dean nods Cas drops to his knees.

Dean shivers again, whimpers, "Cas," and Cas shushes him.

"Just let me take care of you," he says again. He pops the buttons of Dean's fly and drags the jeans down his legs, mindful of Dean's injury, never breaking eye contact. "Hands on my shoulders."

Dean braces himself and Cas unties his boots. He helps Dean step out of both boots and pants. Cas leaves his socks on, the floor too chilly for bare feet. Dean is still wearing his boxers, but standing here with Cas like this strips him bare. It's strangely intimate and Dean's nerves are raw.

Cas spends a few minutes examining the wound, and without Cas's eyes on him Dean can finally breathe. Dean can finally think… and it's a recipe for disaster. Because the thing is, the only thing Dean can think of is the one thing he should _never_ think of. The way he feels about Cas, the way he feels around Cas. How his breath catches and his heart races and his chest absolutely aches with his love for Cas. How he wants it so, so bad. Wants everything that Cas can give and wants to give him everything in return.

Then there’s the way Cas's hands feel on his skin right now, soft and sure, caring. How they burn him to the core but make him shiver at the same time. How he never wants those hands to stop touching him. How he never wants _Cas_ to stop touching him.

How he can never have this. How he can never, _ever_ have this.

He already fucked up when he helped Cas through his fever, did things he should never do and said words he should never say. If he doesn't stop this now— _right the fuck now_ —he'll lose his nerve. He'll give in and take what he wants and it'll ruin anything. Dean will do anything to save Cas the pain, even if it means breaking his own heart.

"Stop it, Cas."

"Stop what?" Cas's fingers dance up his leg, a final examination of the wound. "It's not as bad as it looks. It’s just bleeding a lot."

"Touching me. Stop touching me."

"Dean?" Cas asks, and Dean can hear the worry in his voice. "What's wrong?"

" _Please,_ Cas."

 "It's okay, Dean," Cas soothes with his voice and his touch. "Just let me clean you up real quick. It will only take a few stitches and then I can bandage it and—"

"Stop."

"But Dean—"

"Stop it, Cas."

"Dean, you need to let me take care of you… like you took care of me."

" _I said don't fucking touch me!_ "

Cas reels back as if slapped.

"I don't need you to take care of me, okay, Cas?"

Cas nods.

"No, I—I don't _want_ you to take care of me."

Cas nods again. Rises to his feet. Gulps. "Okay."

Dean sleeps in the tub.

Cas doesn't speak to him in the morning.

 

+5

"That's it, Dean," Sam says, the frustration clear in his voice. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

"Who?"

"What do you mean, who? Cas, man. What the fuck did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him." Dean pushes past Sam in the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. He knows it's a total lie. Knows a blind man could see the tension between him and Cas in the last few weeks, so thick he can taste it or cut it with a damn butter knife. But what the hell is Dean supposed to say? What's he supposed to do? He pushed Cas away for a reason, a _good_ reason, and he can't turn back now.

" _Bull. Shit._ "

Dean chokes on his coffee. " _What?_ "

"Bullshit, Dean. Fucking _bullshit._ If I have to watch the two of moping around any longer I'm gonna feed myself to werewolf."

"A werewolf, Sam? Really?"

"Yes. Really." Sam snorts, momentarily lost in thought. "I thought it was bad enough watching you two dance around each other for the last eight years, but this is just sad…"

Dean's stomach jumps up into his throat. He gulps loudly, heart pounding in his chest. "W—what? We're not—we haven't been—"

Sam cuts him off with a look. Dean hangs his head.

When Dean finally speaks, he's surprised by the sound of his voice, how soft and small and scared it is. "What do I do?"

"I can't answer that for you," Sam says, laying a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I messed up real bad, man."

"So fix it."

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"Because… Because he's Cas!"

Sam raises a brow. "And?"

"And what? And he's too fucking good for me is what! Dude was a fucking Angel who saved the goddamn universe. I'm just a man…"

"You're an idiot, Dean."

"Good pep-talk." Dean makes a break for the exit but Sam grabs his arm and stops him. "Let go."

"No, Dean. Just listen."

"You gonna call me an idiot again?"

"No… Probably not… Only if you deserve it."

Dean signs. "Fine. What?"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe Cas feels the same way?"

Dean scoffs. "Yeah. Okay."

"I'm serious, Dean. And I don't just mean that he loves you too."

Dean's jaw twitches. He swallows thickly.

"I mean about all of it. About not feeling good enough either."

Dean snaps his head in Sam's direction. "What?" he whispers. "No way."

"He learned how to be human from us." Sam laughs. "I mean, what did you think was gonna happen?"

"Shit."

"You think?" Sam shakes his head. "Just talk to him."

"Not so sure he wants that."

"Don't really have another option."

Dean sighs. "Suppose not."

"It'll all work out, man." Sam claps Dean on the shoulder and leaves him in the kitchen with his thoughts.

The decision is easier to make than Dean thinks. If there's even a chance that Sam is right, that Cas feels the same way on all accounts, then he has to try. And if Cas thinks he's worthy, who is Dean to argue? That's what decides it for him.

Dean knows what he needs to do but it takes him two full days and two nights of restless sleep to work up the courage. He's in bed early morning of day three when the door across the hall creaks open and Cas exits, socked feet shuffling slowly down the hall. Dean's heart thumps. There is a part of him that wants to be a coward, call off his plan and just avoid Cas forever. But the other part of Dean is in agony with how much he misses Cas. He wants to jump out of bed and chase Cas down the hall. Wrap him in his arms and never let him go.

Cas has just stepped under the spray of water when Dean makes his way into the Letters' Shower Room. His mouth is suddenly dry, bitter with the taste of fear. He swallows and closes the door behind him. Cas turns, still so otherworldly graceful in his human body that it takes Dean's breath away. He gasps and Cas stares. The air is thick and electric.

"Hey, Cas."

"Dean?" Cas tilts his head with a slight frown. He's trying so hard to act like this isn't affecting him but Dean knows him better than anyone. His eyes are heavy with fatigue, red rimmed and puffy and it breaks Dean's heart.

"So uh…" He exhales a shaky breath. "Is that offer still on the table?"

"What offer?"

"To uh—to uh..." The next words catch on a sob in Dean's throat. "To take care of me." _To take care of my heart._ He doesn't say this last part but he knows that Cas hears.

"Is that what you want, Dean?"

A whisper. His voice shakes. "Yes."

"Then I'd be honored."

Cas holds out his hand and Dean accepts.

 

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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